


Wasted Ink

by corelton



Category: Sakamichi no Apollon | Kids on the Slope
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-01-18 06:03:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corelton/pseuds/corelton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaoru writes a letter he can't send.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasted Ink

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in like one sitting bc my friend wanted me to write a sad thing and gave me a number from a list of prompts  
> 17\. What was their last phone call (text/letter/insert applicable) about?
> 
> also i pulled the title out of my ass im sorry

He can’t sleep. It’s not that it’s an uncommon issue for Kaoru lately, but once again, not even tossing and turning in his bed offers him any sort of comfort. With an aggravated sigh, he sits up and slaps around for his glasses, giving up on the illusion of getting any amount of rest tonight.

Frustrated fingers grip and pull at his fringe, groaning into his palms. The reason he can’t drift off sits clear in his mind, present in his every waking moment, and even in the rare occasion he slips into a fruitless sleep, the mystery plagues his dreams.

Kaoru leans over to flick his bedside lamp on and he shuffles over to his desk. He has better things to do than ruminate on it and he knows that. He’s in his first semester of college and there is studying to be done, tests to take, a whole world of new things to learn, but here he is, tearing his hair out on a mystery he can’t solve.

A piece of advice he once heard in passing comes to mind and, well, it can’t hurt to try. With that thought, he grabs a notebook and a pen, settling himself in to write a letter he knows he’ll never be able to send. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't. There was no address for him to scrawl on the front of this letter.

“Dear Sentaro,” He furiously scribbles the words out. That’s not pointed enough. “Kawabuchi-san.” Another line streaks through his words. Too formal, too distant. He’s angry but despite his sudden disappearance, Sen manages to remain dear to him. He tries out several other greetings, then strikes them through for various reasons. Whatever, it doesn’t matter if it’s perfect. Sen will never read it.

Then the words start to flow out. “Where did you go? How could you leave like that? You have family here, a home, things you must attend to. What could have possessed you to abandon us?” The writing is hardly legible as he inks out every word that has kept him awake for far too long. “How can you be so selfish? Is there no sense of decency in that brutish head of yours?

“We’ve carried on in your absence. Ritsuko and I graduated while your seat remained empty. She attends a local college, while I’ve taken up school in Tokyo. Sometimes as I roam the city, I remember our trip. Do you remember it? The time you recklessly followed me to meet my mother. Even still it amazes me that you would be so foolhardy. Perhaps I shouldn’t be. You’ve proven time and time again the only thing that matters to you is what you decide to do.

“Did our time together mean anything to you?” His handwriting descends into scribbles. He won’t be able to read this tomorrow, but what does it matter? The words will still ring through his mind almost constantly and Sentaro would still never read them. “You left so suddenly, without a word. Without a goodbye. Without an apology.” The force of his pen across the page tears the sheet of paper. “Did our times in the basement mean nothing? What about the school festival? I still hold those memories dear, but the fact that you might not makes them spoil in my heart. Why did you leave us?

“Why did you leave me?”

As he tries to sign his name, the pen drops and rolls across the desk. he doesn’t see it as it hits the floor, too busy trying to brush away the thick, disgraceful tears trudging down his face. Droplets slam against the paper, smearing the ink, smudging the sentiments.

Why did Sen leave? Why wasn’t he as important to Sen as Sen was to him?

Why?


End file.
